to Love Again (1981) Read online

  She had moved to a large comfortable co-op on Park Avenue, put her son in a private school, hired a housekeeper, invested her money and Natasha Walker was having a ball. Having acquired success to add to her beauty, Natasha had it all.

  Mrs. Walker? There was a soft knock on her door.

  Not now, Hattie. I'm working. Natasha pushed the long blond hair out of her eyes and began to sift through the pile of papers again.

  Are you sure? There's a phone call. I think it's important.

  Take my word for it. It's not.

  But they said it's from Rome.

  The door was opened before Hattie could add another word to her exhortation. There was no longer any need. Natasha marched across the kitchen, her bare feet long and slender on the bright yellow floor, her tight jeans showing her hip bones, the man's shirt she wore tied just beneath her small breasts.

  Why didn't you tell me it was Rome? She looked reproachfully at the black woman with the soft, curly gray hair and then flashed her a quick smile. Don't worry about it. I know what a pain in the ass I am when I'm working. Just don't go in there. No clean coffee cups, no plant watering, nothing. I need the mess. Hattie made a mock-frown at the familiar refrain and disappeared down a bright, sunny hall to the bedrooms as Natasha grabbed the phone. Yes?

  Signora Natasha Walker?

  Yes.

  We have a communication to you from Roma. One instant, if you please. Natasha sat very still and waited. She hadn't spoken to Isabella since she'd first heard the news. She had wanted to fly to Rome for the funeral. But Isabella hadn't wanted her to. She had asked her to wait. She had written, and waited, but for the first time in the eleven years of their friendship, there had been no answers, no news. It had been four months since Amadeo had been murdered, and she had never felt as cut off from Isabella since the day she had left the apartment they'd shared for a year and gone back to Rome. She hadn't written during those first few months either, but that was because she'd been so busy with her designing, and then so much in love. So much in love Natasha could still remember the excitement in Isabella's letters when she had written to tell her: ' and he's marvelous ' and I love him ' so handsome ' so tall and blond and I'll work for him at San Gregorio, doing real couture. ' The joy and the excitement had gone on for years. It had been a permanent honeymoon with those two. And then suddenly he was dead. Natasha had sat in shock and horrified silence when she'd heard the story on the six o'clock news.

  Signora Walker?

  Yes, yes, I'm here.

  We have your party.

  Natasha? Isabella's voice was strangely subdued.

  Why the hell haven't you answered my letters?

  I ' don't know, Natasha. ' I didn't know what to say.

  Natasha frowned and then nodded. I've been worried about you. Are you all right? The concern in her voice traveled five thousand miles to greet Isabella, who brushed the tears from her eyes and almost smiled.

  I suppose so. I need a favor. It was always like that with them. They could pick up where they had left off, not speak to each other for six months, then instantly be sisters again when they met or spoke. It was one of those rare friendships that could always be put down without cooling off.

  Name it, Natasha said.

  Isabella briefly explained what had happened with Alessandro that day or what hadn't, but could have. I can't bear it anymore. Not like this, she said. I can't take a chance with him.

  Thinking of her own child, Natasha felt a tremor just listening to the story. No one could. Do you want to send him to me? Their sons were within four months of the same age, and Natasha was not one to be undone by an additional child. Jason would love it, she added. He keeps bitching at me about not having a brother. Besides, they're two of a kind. A year before, when they'd all met to go skiing in Saint Moritz, the two boys had amused themselves by cutting off each other's hair. I'm serious, Isabella. I think you should get him out of Rome.

  I agree. There was a fraction of a pause. How would you feel about having a roommate again? She waited, not knowing what Natasha would say, but her answer was instant. It took the form of a long, delighted, southern little-girl squeal. Isabella suddenly found herself laughing.

  I'd love it. Are you serious?

  Very. Bernardo and I have come to the conclusion that there's no other way. Just for a while. Not permanently of course. And, Natasha she paused, wondering how to explain that she was not just getting away it may be awkward. I'll have to stay hidden. I won't want anyone to know where I am.

  That's going to be a bitch. You won't be able to set foot out of the apartment.

  Do you really think people there would know my face?

  Are you serious? Not the construction workers going to work on the subway maybe, but just about everyone else. Besides, if you do a disappearing act in Rome, it'll be in the papers all over the world.

  Then I'll just have to stay hidden.

  Can you live with that? Natasha had her doubts.

  I have no choice. For the moment anyway. This is what I have to do.

  Natasha had always admired her sense of duty, her courage, her style.

  But you're sure you can stand living with me? I could stay somewhere else, Isabella said.

  The hell you will. If you stay anywhere else, I'll never speak to you again! How soon are you coming?

  I don't know. I've only just made the decision. It will take time to work it out at the office. I'm going to have to continue to run San Gregorio from wherever I am.

  Natasha let out a long slow whistle in answer. How the hell are you going to manage that?

  We'll just have to work it out. Poor Bernardo, as usual, will wind up with the brunt of the work. But I can talk to him by phone every day if I have to, and we have a New York office for our representative there. I can call in without telling them I'm in New York. I think it can be done.

  If it can, then you'll do it. And if it can't, you'll do it anyway.

  I wish I felt as sure. I hate leaving the business here. Oh, Natasha' . She let out a long, unhappy sigh. It's been such an awful time. I don't even feel like me anymore.

  Natasha didn't say it, but Isabella didn't sound like herself either. The past four months had obviously taken a hell of a toll.

  I feel like a machine, Isabella went on. I just manage to get through the days, killing myself in the office and playing with Alessandro when I can. But I keep ' I keep thinking. ' Natasha could hear her friend's voice crack at the other end of the line. I keep thinking he'll come home again. That he's not really gone.

  I think that's what happens when somebody we love disappears suddenly like that. You don't have time to absorb it, to understand.

  I don't understand anything anymore.

  You don't have to. Natasha's voice was gentle. Just come home. There were tears in her own eyes now as she thought of her friend. You should have let me come to Rome four months ago. I'd have brought you back then.

  I wouldn't have gone.

  Yes, you would. I'm six inches taller than you are, remember?

  Suddenly Isabella laughed. It would be lovely to see Natasha again. And maybe it would even be fun to go to New York. Fun! What an insane thing to think about after all that had happened in the past four months.

  Seriously, how soon do you think you can make it? Natasha was already making rapid calculations and had started to scribble notes. Do you want to send Alessandro on ahead? Or do you want me to come and get him now?

  For a moment Isabella considered it but she said, No. I'll bring him with me. I'm not going to let him out of my sight. As she listened Natasha began to wonder what kind of effect all of this was having on the boy, but it was not the moment to ask and Isabella had already gone on. Remember, don't say anything to anyone about this. And Natasha ' thank you.

  Go to hell, spaghetti face.

  Spaghetti face Natasha's pet name for her, one Isabella hadn't heard in years. As she said good-bye she realized that for the first time in months she was laug
hing. She hung up the phone and looked up to see Bernardo, his face a study in anxiety and strain. She had forgotten he was there.

  I'm going.

  How soon?

  As soon as we can work it out at the office. What do you think? A few weeks? She looked at him, her mind suddenly beginning to whirl. Was it even possible? Could it be done? Could she run the business from her hiding place with Natasha in New York?

  But Bernardo was nodding. Yes. We'll get you out of here in the next few weeks. And with that he took a pad of paper from the desk in her bedroom, and they began to map out a plan.

  Chapter NINE

  For the next three weeks, the phone calls flew between New York and Rome. Did Isabella want one phone line or two? Would Alessandro go to school? Was she bringing guards?

  Isabella laughed and threw up her hands. Amadeo had once declared that Natasha could build a bridge, run a country, or win a war without so much as smudging her manicure. Now Isabella decided he had been right.

  Two phones, Isabella decreed. She would decide later whether or not to send Alessandro to school. And, no, there was no need for bodyguards. Park Avenue co-ops were veritable fortresses of security these days, and Natasha's was one of the most well guarded in New York.

  Isabella's plans for departure were equally well guarded. No general had ever mapped a campaign as thoroughly or as secretly as she and Bernardo had planned for the escape of the San Gregorios. No one, not even the highest echelon of San Gregorio, knew her destination; most did not even know she was leaving at all. It had to be that way. Everything had to be a secret. For her sake and the sake of the child.

  She would simply disappear. Rumor would whisper that she was hiding in the penthouse above her offices. Just Isabella, alone with the child. Meals were to be sent up, empty plates returned; laundry would come and go. There was in fact to be a tenant in that apartment; Livia, Amadeo's trusted secretary, had volunteered to closet herself there, making the appropriate noises, walking around on the creaky parquet floor. Everyone would know that someone was living there in hiding. How could anyone suspect that Isabella herself was in New York? It would work. At least for a while.

  Is everything ready? Isabella looked up at Bernardo. He was slipping another stack of file folders into a large leather bag.

  He nodded silently, and Isabella realized how drawn and tired he looked.

  I think I've got copies of every file we have, she said. What about the exports to Sweden? Do you want me to sign some of that stuff now, before I go?

  She continued packing as Bernardo retreated to his office for the papers. Another leather briefcase. More files, more swatches, some of Amadeo's figures, financial sheets from their rep in the States. She had enough work to keep her busy for six months. There would be more, a constant flow of documents, files, reports, information. What could not be done by telephone, Bernardo would forward through Natasha's literary agent, addressed only to Mrs. Walker. Isabella focused on the plan, the work to be done. To think why she was packing, to admit she was leaving, was more than she could bear.

  Bernardo was back in a moment with the papers. Isabella uncapped the gold Tiffany pen that had been Amadeo's and signed her name.

  You know, I don't suppose this is the time or the place for it, but I still wish you'd consider that idea, Bernardo said.

  What idea? Isabella looked at him stupidly. She could hardly think anymore. She had too much on her mind.

  The IHI-F-B takeover. Maybe eventually in New York you could meet with them.

  No, Bernardo. And I'm telling you that for the last time. She didn't want even to argue about it anymore. And now she didn't have the time. I thought you promised me you wouldn't bring that up again.

  All right. All right. In a way she was right. They had too much else to tackle right now. Later. They could always discuss it later when she had tired of trying to run the business from five thousand miles away. The thought stopped him. Who would have believed six months ago that Amadeo would be dead, Isabella in hiding, and he, Bernardo, alone? He felt a wave of desolation wash over him as he watched her lock the last case. He was remembering the summer they had all gone to Rapallo. Amadeo had counted Isabella's seventeen bags table linens, sheets, bathing suits ' hat boxes, one suitcase just for shoes. But this was not going to Rapallo. This was a whole other life a life begun with two briefcases, one bag for Isabella's clothes, and another for Alessandro's.

  Alessandro will be heartbroken we're not taking his bike, Isabella said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

  I'll send him one in New York. A better one. God, how he was going to miss the child. And Isabella too. It would be strange not having her near. No shouting matches, no onyx eyes burning into his. His ulcer relied on her, and so did he.

  We'll be back very shortly, Nardo. I don't think I'll be able to stand this for very long.

  She stood up again, looking around her office, wondering what she'd forgotten, opening her file cabinet for a last time as Bernardo watched her, silent. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a tired half-smile. Listen, why don't you go home and get some sleep? It's going to be a long night.

  Yeah, I suppose. I ' Isabella' . There was an odd catch in his voice as slowly she turned around. I'm going to miss you. And the boy. The look in his eyes was the first hint of his real feelings since Christmas.

  We'll miss you too. Her voice was muffled as she held out her arms, and they hugged in the familiar room. How soon would she see it again? Or him? But we'll be back. Soon too! You'll see.

  +ecco. There were tears in his eyes, which he blinked back as she stepped aside. It was one thing to hide his feelings and quite another not to be near her at all. He already ached at the loss of her, but it was the only way. For her sake and the boy's.

  Now go home and get some sleep.

  Is that an order?

  Of course. She grinned lopsidedly at him and slid into a chair. What a hell of a time of year to go to the Riviera. She tried to look bored and nonchalant as he laughed from the door. That was the plan they had. He would drive her across the border into France, across the Riviera to Nice, where she would take a morning flight to London, and from there the change of guards and on to New York. Most likely she and Alessandro would be in transit for almost twenty-four hours.

  Is there anything I should bring tonight for Alessandro? Some cookies? A game?

  Cookies are always a great idea, but maybe a blanket and a small pillow. And some milk.

  Anything else? For you?

  Just be there, Nardo. And pray we'll all be safe.

  He nodded soberly, pulled the door open, and was gone. He prayed not only that she would leave safely, but that she would return safely, and soon as well. And that she would return to him.

  Chapter TEN

  Mamma, can you tell me a story?

  Isabella perched on the edge of Alessandro's bed. A story ' a story ' she could barely think tonight, let alone weave elaborate tales.

  Please?

  All right, let's see. Her brow puckered into a frown as she looked at him, her long elegant fingers clasping his tiny white hand. Once upon a time there was a little boy. He lived with his mother, and

  Didn't he have a Daddy?

  Not anymore.

  Alessandro nodded, understanding, and settled into his bed. She told him of the place where the boy lived with his mother and all the friends that they had, people who loved them, and a few who did not.

  What did they do? He was beginning to like the story; it had a believable ring.

  About what? It was easy to distract her, she had a thousand things on her mind.

  What did they do about the people who didn't like them?

  They ignored them. And you know what else they did? She lowered her voice conspiratorially. They ran away.

  They did? That's terrible! Alessandro looked shocked. Papa always said it was wrong to run away. Except when you absolutely have to, like from a lion or a very bad dog.

  She wanted to t
ell him that some people were like dogs but she wasn't quite sure what to say. She looked down at him pensively; his hand was still in hers.

  What if running away made them safer? If it kept them from being bothered by lions and bad dogs? And what if they went to a wonderful place where they could be happy again? Wouldn't that be all right? She found as she looked at him that she had a great deal to say.

  I guess so. But is there a place like that? Where everyone is safe?

  Maybe. But you're safe anyway, my darling. You know that. I won't ever let anything happen to you.

  He looked up at her worriedly. But what about you? He still had nightmares about it. If they had gotten his Papa, couldn't they also take his Mamma? It was useless to tell him over and over again they could not If not, why would they have a houseful of bodyguards? Alessandro was nobody's fool.

  Nothing will happen to me either. I promise you.

  Mamma '

  What?

  Why don't we run away?

  If we did, wouldn't it make you sad? There'd be no Mamma Teresa, no Enzo, no Luisa' . No carousel, no bicycle, no Rome. No reminders of Amadeo. '

  But you'd be there! He looked enchanted.

  Would that be enough? She was amused.

  Sure!

  His smile gave her the courage to continue the story, the tale of the little boy and his mother who found a new home in a new land, where they were magically safe and they had new friends.

  Did they stay there forever?

  She looked at him for a long moment. I'm not sure. I think they went home again. Eventually.

  Why? It seemed a ridiculous idea to him.

  Maybe because home is always home, no matter how difficult it is.

  I think that's stupid.

  Wouldn't you want to come home if you went away? She looked at him in astonishment, surprised by what he had said.

  Not if bad things had happened there.

  Like here?

  He nodded silently. They killed my Papa here. They're bad people.

  Everyone didn't do it, Alessandro. Just one or two very bad men.